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The killing-not-to-be-killed truth

Being honest is not the best policy you can consider when someone is trying to save himself from the truth. And she masters this art. Being righteous is never quite enough. She’s just like a deceiver, self-bound up in chains. I want to save her but I’m afraid she’ll strangle me with her superciliousness and haughtiness. Just like she always did. She doesn’t stop pushing and pushing. Her hands are getting bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger. And I can’t keep a distance. All what I can do is paint my face to hide my pain. For the sense of purpose and devotion shall save me one day.

Since we were young, we’ve been told that it’s always greener on the other side. I thought by then, why to waste my entire life planting here while I can enjoy a greener life? I kept digging and digging until I got to that other green side. Yes, after a few months, I managed to keep a distance. It’s not happiness. It’s not contentment. It’s not vivacity. It’s not serenity. It’s not ecstasy. It’s an irresponsible- unstoppable- gilt edged- impermanent- tale. This is different, I’m not sure if it’s better. But this is the best I can afford for now.

If only she knew that a smile, a caring word and a warm embrace would have solved it all. If she only knew that being given whatever tangibles someone needs before naming them is just never enough. Since when have tangibles become persuasively satisfying? And to add insult to injury, I am supposed to translate these tangibles into to-give-back-emotions. I’m expected to give what I’ve never received. I can give it but I just refuse to. Not out of stubbornness. Out of utopian logic. Out of pain and sorrow.